Truth of the world
The surroundings were swallowed in a thick, unnatural darkness. Beyond a few feet in front of him, Sam could barely see anything. The oppressive blackness of Elderwyn Forest crept like smoke through the trees, wrapping around him with every step. Even the faint noises of insects had become quiet, leaving only the crunch of leaves beneath their feet and the occasional whisper of wind.
Sam followed Teron in silence. The old man, despite his hunched posture and worn appearance, moved with certainty. He must've been in his seventies, Sam thought, judging by his wrinkled face and greying beard. But there was a sharpness in the man's gait — not just survival, but purpose.
Unable to contain his curiosity, Sam asked, "Where are you taking me?"
"You'll know soon enough," Teron replied without turning.
"How many people are like us?"
"Patience, young man," Teron answered again. "Questions will be answered in time. But remember one thing—"
He stopped walking for a moment and turned slightly, his eyes catching what little moonlight filtered through the canopy.
"Trust comes with a cost. In this world, power is absolute. And when trust is given freely, it becomes a blade pressed to your own throat."
Sam nodded silently, absorbing the cryptic wisdom. He didn't ask further. The air felt heavy, charged with something unseen. The deeper they went, the more it felt like something — or many somethings — were watching him. From the trees. From the ground. From the shadows. He felt like prey, like he was being hunted by a forest that had no mercy.
After what felt like an eternity of silent walking, Sam began to hear distant murmurs. Soft voices. Humming. Chanting. The closer they got, the clearer it became — these were the voices of people.
Then he saw them.
The path opened into a clearing a plain ground with little grass scattered across the ground, were dozens of people. Like Sam, they wore tattered clothes and iron shackles on their wrists and ankles. Their bodies were caked with dirt, eyes sunken, movements mechanical.
Some were scrubbing the mud from the forest floor. Others tended to horses, shoveling feces and hauling water. A few were stacking weapons in neat rows under the watchful eyes of armored men. Logs were being loaded onto carts, while some slaves worked around cooking pots, preparing meals under duress.
Tents filled the perimeter of the camp, and soldiers moved between them like wolves guarding a pen. Most wore dull iron armor and carried long spears. But others — clearly of higher rank — wore reinforced plates on their arms and legs, with swords strapped to their belts. Their presence alone struck fear into the already broken slaves.
And then Sam saw the bullwhips.
Crack.
A sharp scream pierced the night as one of the higher-ranked guards lashed a man across the back. Blood sprayed onto the dirt as the slave collapsed, writhing. No one moved to help him.
Sam froze.
His breath caught. His heart pounded against his ribs. He had imagined many things since waking up in this strange world — but this? This was horror. A nightmare painted in the colors of misery.
He stood paralyzed, unable to process the scene, until Teron's voice snapped him out of it.
"Get yourself together," the old man whispered sharply. "You can't look weak. They'll eat you alive. Stay close to me."
Sam nodded weakly and forced himself to walk, each step heavy. But the nightmare wasn't over.
A soldier stepped in front of them, barring their way. He had sharp features and cruel eyes, and his voice was dripping with contempt.
"Where the fuck were you, old shit? And what's this you're dragging around with you? Some stray mutt?"
He looked Sam dead in the eye.
Sam felt the chill slam into his spine and rise like a tidal wave to his brain. He trembled uncontrollably, his body rebelling against him. No matter how much he tried to stop, his legs shook, and his eyes darted.
"He's new," Teron cut in quickly, bowing slightly. "We were collecting wood for the fire pits. For the officers' camp. Cold winds are rolling in tonight, as I'm sure you've noticed."
The soldier narrowed his eyes. "You think I'm a fucking idiot? That you can take your sweet time walking through the forest, making excuses?"
Without warning, he raised his arm — and the bullwhip in his hand came down with a metallic hiss.
CRACK!
It tore into Teron's back, a strip of blood spraying across the mossy ground. Teron staggered but didn't fall.
Sam's world tilted. Everything inside him recoiled. The sound, the pain in Teron's expression, the casual cruelty — it all blurred together. He wanted to scream. To fight. To run. But his feet were stones. His throat was a knot.
The soldier spat. "Move along. Next time you're late, I'll strip your skin."
Sam couldn't move. His thoughts raced. How could anyone do this? The cruelty, the disregard for life — it was unbearable. But as much as he wanted to act, his limbs refused to cooperate.
Teron stood tall, despite the fresh wound on his back. Blood soaked through his tattered shirt, but he made no sound. His expression was stoic, eyes hard as stone.
Sam's heart beat erratically in his chest. He couldn't just stand by and let this continue. He didn't know who he was, didn't even remember his name, but something inside him roared.
The soldier continued, his voice mocking. "Go on, old man. Keep dragging your little friend around. And next time, don't waste my time. I'm in no mood for your stupid excuses."
The soldier walked off with a sneer. Teron didn't flinch, but Sam could see the weight of his wounds, the silent suffering beneath his calm exterior.
Once the soldier was gone, Teron took a shallow breath, as though preparing himself for something more difficult than physical pain. "Don't let them break you," he said quietly, his voice rough but firm. "The mind is stronger than the body. But even that can be shattered."
Sam nodded, swallowing hard, trying to steady his shaking hands. "I... I don't know what to do
Teron's eyes softened for a moment before hardening again. He took a deep breath, and his voice was heavy with the weight of years spent suffering in silence. They don't care who we are or where we come from. We're nothing more than tools for them to use. Tools to build, to fight, to die."
His gaze swept across the camp. "The soldiers you saw—they'll sell us, soon. Slaves for the market. You'll be sold in the cities. Your life, like mine, will be owned by others."
Sam's throat constricted. "But... I can't just let this happen. There must be a way out."
Teron's eyes flickered. "Escape is a fantasy, young man. But strength... strength is something you can control. If you want to survive here, you'll have to fight. Not with your fists, but with your mind, your will."
Sam looked at the people around him — broken, beaten, and working with empty eyes. But there was something inside him that resisted. Something inside him that refused to accept this fate. He didn't know who he was or why he was here, but he knew one thing:
This was not a life he would accept.
Not for himself.
He has do something
...
📢 Author's Note 📢
Hey legends!
Did you enjoy this chapter? If you did, smash that POWER STONE like you're Sam breaking those rusty shackles! 💥
Every vote is a warm hug to this humble author—and helps me keep the chapters flowing faster than a ninja on caffeine.
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Love y'all. Until the next chapter—stay curious, stay wild. ⚔